


A Pain That Demands To Be Felt

by alexwestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, M/M, Road Trip, Sad Dean, angsty, i dont know whats gonna happen, sad road trip, so basically normal dean, this started as a late night thought, we're on this journey together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 09:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5284751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexwestiel/pseuds/alexwestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>dean scratches at non-existent itches, and all hell breaks lose</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pain That Demands To Be Felt

**Author's Note:**

> we're on this journey together chaps

Dean had hoped that he would never be stood here. That he would never stand at the edge of his own brother’s grave. It, even now, while it was going on around him, seemed utterly implausible. But he had pinched himself too many times for it to not be real.  
They had planned their funerals at 15 and 19, while dad was away at a bar, and they were sat alone in a ratty motel room in Indiana. Dean had asked for a Viking burial, because ‘they're metal as all hell, Sammy. I want to go out with a bang.’ Sam however, wanted this kind of send-off. A huddle of people stood, looking morosely at a hole in the ground. It was traditional, and all Sam had ever wanted was to be traditional and normal. Dean didn’t blame him, it sounded like a sweet deal. A white picket fence, apple pie life with a wife and a few kids. It was like looking at the ‘this is what you could've won’ prize on a shitty old gameshow. It was a punch in the gut for Dean that Sam got so close but just missed. He had wanted that kind of life for Sam, to be honest. He had deserved so much more than he got.  
The priest looked to dean as a cue for dean to walk up and give a speech to the huddle of black figures. He sighed, suddenly becoming weighed down by his never ceasing exhaustion. He told himself to buck up and pulled himself up to the odd little mahogany podium. On arriving he took off his coat (despite the biting wind) and rolled up the crisp white sleeves. He took a deep breath and looked at his audience of pale, blotchy moons in a starless black sky of coats.  
“Hey, um, I'm Dean Winchester, Sam’s older brother. I mean, you should really know that, but if you didn’t or don't like me enough to remember, there you go. I originally had a whole speech written out for this, but I decided it was lame and changed my plan to just wingin’ it on the day. Because Sammy deserves better than a cliché ass poem and some cliché ass speech about how much we'll miss him. If I'm honest, he deserves a parade and a proper ceremonial burial, but this is what he wanted. He wanted to be normal. So I’m granting him that wish, in death like I couldn’t in life.” He gulped and watched as Jess, his long term girlfriend, buried her long mass of golden hair into her mother’s chest.  
“And Jess, I know this probably won't make it any better, but he wanted to propose to you. And I helped him choose the ring. And, if you ever need anything, just ask, okay? I might not be ideal, but I know what it's like to lose everything.” He looked up at the sky to avoid looking at the coffin. Because he knew the world would be better if he was there, not Sam.  
“So um, I'll say this, Sam was the best goddamn brother I could've asked for. And I know we fought and weren't exactly a sitcom pair, but he was great, and it isn't fair on him to have to leave so early. And I love him, and I will continue to love him until I die. So, yeah.” He blinked back the tears that threatened to fall and break the already flimsy flood defences that he had made for his emotions. “Anyway, I've wasted enough of everyone's time, so I’ll stop talking now. Thanks for listening.” He put on his coat, went to the back of the group and waited out the rest of the speeches, and the tearful goodbyes. He wanted to leave, to jump in the impala and drive until the pounding in his ears stopped. But something about the way Jess buried her head in her mother’s chest kept him there. She was so broken by this, and Dean saw everything he felt inside projected onto her slender figure. It was as if she would break into thousands of tiny shards if one more thing went wrong for her. He sighed and scratched the non-existent itch on the back of his left hand. He knew he would scratch it raw, because he was an idiot that way. He usually had Sam to slap his hand away, and tell him to cut it out, but this wasn’t the case at this moment in time. Since Sam left for college, Dean’s limbs had accumulated many a burn. It was something to distract him from his feelings and his anxiety and his inadequacies.  
“Dean.” The voice was female and smaller than he had remembered. But of course it was.  
“Hey Jess. How are ya holdin’ up?” he croaked back, swallowing the lump in his throat with increasing difficulty. This was a pain that demanded to be felt.  
“How do you think Dean?” she said, and all of a sudden, all the pain on her face came into perspective. The untamed hair, the chapped lips, the bruise- like discolorations under her reddened eyes.  
“Bad question really, sorry,” He scratched the back of his neck, “what can I do for you, anyway?”  
“I need to ask you for something. I need a ride out of here.”


End file.
